


Bloodline

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mother's Love, Revenge, mother's revenge, not really non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29611482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: Morgause would be a formidable swords-woman, and wonderfully adept at stabbing people in the back once she was done with them. Her mother, Vivienne, taught her well.
Relationships: Gorlois/Vivienne (Merlin), Uther Pendragon/Vivienne (Merlin)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	Bloodline

When she first spied the girl hovering just out of reach, Vivienne didn’t recognise her. Golden-haired, brown eyes, and anger stared back at her. The child was heavy with power, the currents of it swirling around her in heat and fury but strong, strong enough to bend most of those without magic to her will. She would be a formidable sorceress when her studies were done.

It was only when Nimueh introduced her to the girl that Vivienne realised just who she was and why she had glared at her with such hatred.

Her own daughter, smuggled out of Camelot, given over to the High Priestesses without so much as a by-your-leave from Vivienne. No matter how much she might protest, Morgause had been stolen from her at birth. And it would seem that the priestesses had fed the girl lies. Her own daughter blamed Vivienne for abandoning her.

* * *

On one level, Vivienne understood Morgause’s anger. Vivienne herself had been brought up by the priestesses and knew how things worked. Although from a long line of strong sorcerers, Vivienne had minimal power. She knew her place, hard work and study making her a little better with magic, but she would never be held in high esteem. Never allowed to forge her own destiny. She was barely above a hedge witch, but she wanted to serve and so she did.

Until, to her horror, they demanded sacrifice. They needed her bloodline. And then she was a prize given over to Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall and ally to Camelot. No objection was allowed, her wishes to remain untouched for the greater glory of the Triple Goddess tossed aside.

Her maidenhood ripped from her—no matter how gentle Gorlois had been, it hadn’t been her choice. A brood mare, expected to produce children on Cornwall’s altar, she wept on her wedding day and many days after. She grew furious and then depressed and finally joyous when she proved fertile. At last, a girl was born, strong in power, strong enough to be a High Priestess someday.

But as she cradled the babe in her arms, Nimueh appeared and whisked her away, helped by her acolytes. Vivienne’s screams were to no avail. The child was gone. They hadn’t even let Vivienne name her.

Gorlois blamed her for it.

He used her anyway, month after month, hoping for another heir, but she never quickened. But knowing what little power she had, Vivienne began to collect lovers, for solace, for their money or talents, for knowledge, for vengeance against her husband and all around her.

She learned treachery too, learned to wield sword and knife with the best of them, learned poisons and profit, learned how to bend people to her will without magic. Learned that no one could be trusted, that manipulation was as pure a power as any.

And so it went until one day, Nimueh visited her again, with demands of submission. Those of the Blessed Isle needed her. But this time, it was Uther’s bed she was delivered to. Cuckolding Gorlois but by then, she had had hundreds of lovers. What was one more?

This time, another girl, another steeped in power, was born.

Surprisingly, Morgana was allowed to stay with Gorlois, instead of being stolen away like her other daughter had been. Perhaps the Seers had seen something, but Gorlois was pleased at last.

And with that pleasure, Vivienne was released, her duty done.

She escaped into the night, leaving her child behind. She wouldn’t have been allowed to take her anyway but for weeks after, she wept for the loss.

* * *

Vivienne wandered for months. Her magic was limited and the screams of the dead in Camelot’s Great Purge were a pall over all of Albion. She used her other skills, as a sell sword, an herbalist, a poisoner of merit but each time, she was chased from villages and hamlets once they found out what she was. Afraid to go into towns for fear of exposure, she gave up and headed back to the one place she knew was safe. The Isle of the Blessed.

At least this time, they couldn’t use her body. Her courses were done, her bloodlines complete.

And once she realised that her daughter was there, Vivienne was determined to win her back.

* * *

Vivienne started small. Most of the sorcerers there didn’t use weapons other than magic. She would practice her sword work out in the courtyard, drawing curious onlookers, but she was only interested in one, Morgause.

Much as Morgause would glare at her, still she was smart enough to realise that Vivienne could teach her a useful skill. So wordlessly, one day, Vivienne handed Morgause a practice sword and moved into first stance, waiting for acceptance or rejection.

The clack of swords was loud. Morgause fought as if she would kill Vivienne if she could, all wide swings and clumsy footwork. But Vivienne was patient, talking her through it, showing her how to thrust and parry and the defences for it.

By the end of the first lesson, Vivienne could see that Morgause would be back, that she was Vivienne’s daughter after all. In time, she would grow into a formidable swordswoman.

As the lessons continued, Vivienne started telling Morgause of her life, slowly, one little nugget of truth at a time, not wanting to overwhelm but seduce her into Vivienne’s view of the world and her place in it. She’d talk about how, as a girl, she’d wanted to serve the Triple Goddess and all the laughter she’d shared with the other acolytes. The joy of spells, the memories of how perfumed with magic the Isle was, the sweet sounds of lyre and singing, the way the trees swayed to the music. Painting an exuberant picture of girlhood.

Then slowly, a simple word here, an image there, she told Morgause of the changes, how she was delivered like a piece of meat to her husband, the loneliness, the despair. But never directly blaming the High Priestesses because Vivienne knew she would lose Morgause if she did. 

Painting a picture of her joy when realising that she was pregnant, the way the babe kicked or stood on Vivienne’s bladder or kept her awake at night. How she couldn’t rest comfortably at all but still a blessing, knowing she’d soon have a baby to love, to hold, to teach the delights of magic.

Vivienne didn’t mention Nimueh stealing her away. It would have only made Morgause angry, would have had her denying all of it. Instead, Vivienne spoke of loss and the despair of months after, mourning.

In the next lesson, Morgause’s footwork was sloppy, her sword-play full of hard swings. She was angry and it showed in every twist of her body, the harsh scowl on her face, the mutters under her breath. But it was not with Vivienne, but with Nimueh, finding out the truth of her birth.

It was then that Vivienne knew that she had Morgause on her side at last.

She taught her to manipulate, to lie with a straight face and even under a truth spell. She taught Morgause all the tricks of sword-fighting, how to feign and go for the kill, how to never let your enemy have the upper hand, to seem to give in while slipping the knife into their backs. To never trust anyone but blood.

In the end, Morgause was her legacy.

The days of the Blessed Isle were growing short. Even the lowest of them could feel the magic draining away. There were rumours of troops marching to the Isle, how Pendragon’s rage had spread into a miasma of hate and death. The smoke of sorcerers burning, burning even as the Druids and hedge-witches and magical creatures moved west, running from sword and revenge.

On the last day, with the sound of troops echoing in the forest beyond the sacred lake, Vivienne pulled Morgause to one side. Putting the bracelet of the House of Gorlois, stolen in a moment of pique as she fled Tintagel, onto Morgause’s wrist, Vivienne said, “My daughter, this will serve you well. Keep it with you always.” She stopped, not wanting to leave her but knowing the time was almost upon them. “Nimueh hasn’t told you everything. In Camelot, Morgana, daughter of Gorlois, ward of Uther Pendragon, sits at his right hand.”

Morgause nodded, “I’ve heard the rumours. That she is not all that she seems. That she has magic.”

Vivienne smiled. Morgause was truly gifted. “She is my daughter, too, but not of Gorlois’s get. I was tasked to seduce Pendragon, the beast of Camelot, and she was the result. The portends tell us that she will be his undoing. But you, my daughter, will help her, ruling next to her, a beloved sister, bringing forth a new day of magic in Camelot.”

“She is but a child,” Morgause said, frowning. “How can she rule while Uther’s son lives?”

“Magic will help you, but it is not yet time. Years you will have to make alliances, slay enemies, twist lies into truth. I have taught you all I know, but it is you and her that will help magic flower again.” Vivienne gathered Morgause into her arms, a stiff hug that was over far too soon. “But the crystals tell us that we have little time left here. The Isle will fall within hours. We will scatter like leaves in the wind and wait for the right time to strike back.”

Vivienne reached out, cradling Morgause’s face with her palm, one last time. “You will survive, my daughter, and thrive. Your name will echo throughout time.”

Staring at Vivienne’s face, Morgause said, “You’re leaving. Again.”

“My destiny and yours were intertwined for a brief time, but now it is done. I have no place next to you. That is your sister’s place. I was the vessel for Pendragon’s destruction and nothing more. And I have other, more important tasks ahead of me. Finding you allies, finding you acolytes and treasure and places to hide.” Morgause was still scowling but she nodded at last. Vivienne said, “I will send word when it is time, but for now, you must leave. For the Isle is about to fall and any in it will die.”

“Mother….” The word sent a pain of regret into Vivienne’s chest. Morgause had never called her that nor Morgana. And no one else ever would ever call her that again.

“Go, my beloved girl, go,” Vivienne said, even as the thunder of horses came echoing over the water. “We shall see each other again someday.”

Morgause nodded, her hand on the bracelet Vivienne had given her. Then a quick kiss on her cheek and with blonde hair flying, Morgause ran out into the night.

Vivienne had been good with lies. She’d learned all too well how to use them to get what she wanted.

Now, as the fireballs started to pound the Isle and the soldiers across the water cheered, she knew her time there was over. She might escape into the woods, but even with her limited powers, she knew she would never see either of her daughters again.

But if her time there had been enough to destroy Nimueh for what she’d done to Vivienne so many years ago, had been enough to bring down the Pendragon butcher—long may his name be cursed, and put her daughters onto the throne of Camelot and later all of Albion, it would be a life well lived.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:** Vivienne was the mother of Morgause and Morgana, and wife to Gorlois. We don’t know much else about her. The show is really terrible with bloodlines.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
